The Seahawks
by Guns and Drums
Summary: Leah has one extra ticket to the Seahawks game, and if either Sam or Paul want it they have to convince her. Prompt: Leah's 'tude, Paul's abs, Sam's voice, and a gun. Pure fluff. Oddly enough, the abs were the hard thing to work in. Rated T for f-bombs. One-shot.


**Prompt: **Leah's attitude. Paul's abs. Sam's voice. And a gun. (Oddly enough, Paul's abs were the hardest thing to work into this).  
**Ratings/Warnings: **T – I mean, there _is_ a gun…

* * *

Leah only had one extra ticket to the Seahawks game. Both Paul and Sam were standing before her prepared to battle it out – maybe even with her – if necessary.

_Convince me_, she'd told them. She sat steadfastly on her porch. She'd assumed they'd figured out she had the extra ticket after Seth phased to take over for the two of them on patrol.

"I'll pay for gas." Paul was always pragmatic, and if they had lived in the Ice Age, she would have stuck to him like glue because he was so overly logical. But they didn't live in the Ice Age, and she didn't need the practical provider of mammoth meat. She wanted the entertainment value.

"Meh," she shrugged a shoulder. He was going to have to do a lot better than that. Paul could get creative when he wanted.

"C'mon, Leah?" Sam sat down next to her and she heard his bass radiate from his chest. Sam had the lovely experience of going through the major voice changes of puberty the summer before they went to high school. Leah mocked him incessantly. That was back when they simply picked on each other incessantly. It was a pretty fair trade considering Sam had given her crap the year before when she had to stop buying her jeans in the boys department because she had grown a pair of hips.

Regardless, that voice still scrambled her insides. Especially when he used it like that. She smiled and relished the feeling. Sam was _also_ really good at begging. But she wouldn't cave that easy.

"I dunno…" she said doubtfully. She glanced up to see Paul standing about a foot away. His arms were crossed and he was clearly not pleased with the card Sam was playing. However, from her spot at the top of the porch steps, Leah did get a _lovely_ view of Paul's abs.

They boys subconsciously catalogued all the women they knew. They never said anything – probably because they knew Leah would hamstring them – but she knew. Because they would all imagine the same things. Kim's tits. Emily's ass. Leah's legs. It was a damn good thing for all their health that the only thing of Leah's they were picturing were her legs.

At any rate, Leah and Anna – and sometimes even Rachel – took a lot of fun in cataloguing the boys. Completely willfully, and obviously too. It was interesting considering each woman had a brother in the Pack. Quil was mostly safe, for some reason. Jacob and Seth were decidedly not – much to Rachel and Leah's repulsion. They had all agreed – after Leah had phased and given Anna a _proper_ visual – that Paul had the best abs. Possibly ever.

Leah remembered that the boy had been pretty stacked before he phased. She remembered him playing some high school sports. Phasing had done his natural definition oh so much good. The shewolves ogled regularly and made no apologies. The boy had a long torso and lots and lots of room for abdominals. Eight, she counted. Though the last set was cut a bit short by the waistband of the basketball shorts he was wearing. Those last ones were the best, though. Well defined, and the deep V carved into his hips acted, essentially, as a giant neon sign. They all begged to be played like piano keys.

Paul did not miss her obvious staring. Since he – and a few of his other brothers – had become the obvious target for lascivious glances, they had recognized when they were being visually molested.

"Would you like me to strip down and do a little dance for you?" he asked, his voice sardonic. Leah didn't think he was offering it up as a way to win a Seahawks ticket. Mostly he was just messing with her. Which they both enjoyed maybe a little too much.

"Maybe," she taunted back with a shrug.

"Please don't," Sam requested. "I see enough of your naked ass on a regular basis."

"Really?" Leah quipped. "Because the double X chromosomes are all agreed that Embry has the best ass. But Paul can feel free to dance if he wants."

"Don't tempt me. Hell knows my standards are low enough."

Leah grinned. She supposed they _were_ all quite lucky Paul wore as much clothing as he did – the boy was remarkably lazy.

Sam might've been good at begging – _especially_ with that voice. But Paul played on all her weakness and could seduce her at quite a rapid pace. Though he was definitely never the romantic Sam was.

Sam roped his arm around Leah's waist and pulled her a little closer. "I'll make you gourmet meals for the next week. Every meal."

"Oo," Leah replied. That was moderately tempting. It was near impossible to tell given the way Emily's borderline psychopathic tendencies had caused her throw herself into her huswifery. Leah was convinced it was a subconscious reaction to being hurt. Under the surface, she was too terrified to risk ever saying anything out of turn, for fear of a repeat performance. Of course, she never said or even thought anything remotely close to that line of thought. And for all of Emily's mental health upsets after the incident, Leah knew Sam was not a violent person and Emily's behavior was a reaction to her past, not a result of Sam being 'that kind of guy'. Violence was Leah's job. She had been upset, angry, sad, and drunk often enough wail on Sam with quite a degree of effectiveness. Sam never so much as poked her. Sam was not violent, however his wolf was – unfortunately – another story. So many weeks alone in the woods without guidance had not been good for it.

Leah hadn't eaten any of Sam's food after he phased. Emily made everything. But Sam had been a kick ass preparer of meals. His mom would've burnt water, and if he wanted to eat – he needed to learn. And did he ever. That was a very tempting offer, plus she much liked the idea of having Sam stuck in her kitchen for at least four meals a day as she gave him orders.

"I'll take you to work with me, down in dry dock, so you can show up all the macho shipbuilders." Paul was pulling out the big guns now. Leah had dropped him off in Seattle enough times to know that the men he worked with were a bunch of block-headed Neanderthals. And more than once Paul had to forcibly keep her in the car and convince her to _just go to class_ and save the world that way.

"Mm," she hummed thoughtfully and tapped her index finger against her chin. She considered his offer, even as Sam's arm was still firmly in place around her waist. Then, apropos of nothing, she stood up, putting her hands on her hips. "I'll think about it and get back to you boys."

Then she marched inside and slammed the door shut. She watched from the window as Sam just rolled onto his back on her porch and Paul threw his arms in the air and spun on his heel. The two then left together. Paul pushed Sam, and Sam pushed him back.

* * *

It was a few days later, when Leah was awoken at the unholy hour of six, by an unceremonious racket on her porch. She jumped out of bed angrily – swearing to herself that she wouldn't let her deeply buried fondness for animals prevent her from shooting whatever it was rooting around in her trash barrel again.

She cursed herself for renting a one-room bungalow so close to the woods – on the edge of the reservation. First it had been raccoons, then foxes, some deer, coyotes, and the last time she'd been woken up in the middle of the night she threw the door open but was not expecting the elk that was almost bigger than her house. The scream of surprise she'd issued was most unlady like. However, she'd never done more than shoo the animals away.

She couldn't bear setting traps only to have the critters end up killed. She'd hit a cat when she was sixteen picking Seth up from school. She'd only been driving for a month and she cried buckets. A nine year old Seth had come out of the car and been the one to suggest the give it a funeral. But she'd been too forgiving of the local wildlife and she was getting the distinct feeling she was the butt of some feral joke as they refused to stop eating her trash and spreading it all over the yard on the rainiest nights possible.

She grabbed her Dad's old rifle out of the umbrella stand next to the door, fully prepared to yell a lot and fire a few warning shots into the sky for good measure. She wouldn't kill it, but she was going to scare that elk shitless. She tore the door open and stepped onto her porch – not to hungry elk – but to two moronic shapeshifters. Leah's jaw just dropped, though she kept the rifle prepped at her shoulder.

Leah assumed Paul and Sam had been fighting in their attempt to get up her steps, but now they just paused and stared at her. "What the fuck are you doing?" Paul asked, eyes wide, but totally immobile. Sam was just as still, and his eyes flickered from the barrel of the gun to Leah's face.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing?" Leah demanded. "It's six in the morning. I thought you two were some wild animal eating out of my fucking trash bins!" She released an annoyed breath and lowered the gun. Both Sam and Paul stood a little more upright and made their way to the top of the steps.

"It's game day, Leah," Sam reminded her. She only rolled her eyes and went back inside, leaving the door open as the two men followed. She slapped the coffee maker's requisite parts together hastily. "Final decision?"

She poured herself a cup, and took a sip. No sugar, no creamer. Bitter – like her – and just how she liked it.

"I'm taking Jake," she announced with a sly grin.

"What!"

"Why?"

"He's the only one that said 'please.'"


End file.
